


before my blood runs cold

by ashlawrites



Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Brotherly Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Clones, Family, Fix-It, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mind Control
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:00:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashlawrites/pseuds/ashlawrites
Summary: After suffering heavy losses at the Battle of Abregado, the 104th Battallion is replenished with new troopers. A new squad fresh off of Kamino is folded into what remains of the survivors under the infamous Commander Wolffe.This is an incredibly self-indulgent fix-it fic where I take my clone sons on fun (?) adventures throughout the galaxy. With a sprinkling of plot, occasionally.
Relationships: Boost & Comet & Sinker & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Clone Troopers & Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Clone Troopers & Jedi Character(s), Plo Koon & CC-3636 | Wolffe, Plo Koon & Clone Troopers
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	before my blood runs cold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Dominoes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11864643) by [meridianpony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianpony/pseuds/meridianpony). 
  * Inspired by [running with lightning feet](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23348836) by [blackkat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat). 



> This follows canon at first, but even so it's not perfect and I am going to take creative liberties. For example, the battalion colour for the 104th changes to grey immediately after Abregado, just for the sake of convenience. Also, whilst the clones do have accelerated aging, it stops once they reach full maturity because that just...makes more sense to me. If any of this is going to bother you, please don't read on. Otherwise, enjoy!!
> 
> Also, this work has been super inspired by meridianpony's Dominoes and blackkat's running with lightning feet. They're both incredible writers and I highly suggest you read their works if you haven't already!

“Shove it, Habit!”

“What, you scared, Steele?” A wicked grin broke out on Habit’s face, his eyes swimming with mirth. “Feeling nervous? Gonna piss your blacks?”

“Shut your trap, or I’ll shut it for you.” Steele hissed through clenched teeth, all tensed muscle and narrowed eyes. He was about as intimidating as a baby tooka. Habit smirked at him, leaning languidly against the crate beside them.

“Guys, come on. We haven’t even _boarded_ yet.”

Habit exhaled dramatically, rolling his eyes as he pushed off the crate, and cast an annoyed sideways glance at the brother who had chided them. Still, something in his expression softened as he reached out for Steele, knocking their foreheads together.

“You’ll be okay, vod. We all will. Except maybe Ticks, I’m still shocked he even got off Kamino.”

“Hey!”

“My point is, as long as we’re together, we’ll survive. The Seppies aren’t gonna know what hit them.” Habit’s smirk returned, stepping back as his hand fell to Steele’s upper arm, giving it a firm squeeze. Steele wouldn’t feel anything under the plastoid armour, but the thought was there. His cheeks turned ruddy with a slight blush, barely visible against his dark skin. Steele was still scowling but the heat from his glare was gone, his gaze planted on the grated flooring below them.

“I’m not scared.” He mumbled.

“Well _I_ certainly am.” An exasperated voice called from behind them, all eyes turning to the brother sat down against the hull of the ship. He was waving a datapad at them, one eyebrow raised. “Have any of you even read what happened to the 104th? Why they need so many new troops?”

“They got fucked by Grievous.”

“Eloquently put as always, Angel.”

“Not all of them though, Baseline. There were some survivors.” Ticks piped up. Baseline sighed, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, a grand total of four, not including the General. And apparently one of them wasn’t even at Abregado when they got hit.”

An unsettled silence fell over the group. Steele’s scowl slipped from his face as Ticks shuffled nervously in place. For a few beats, the humming of the ship’s engines and the low murmur of conversation from the other squads around them was all that filled the quiet. Baseline closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging as he tipped his head back to rest against the hard metal behind him. The initial excitement of leaving Kamino had worn off, eaten away by a sense of dread that hung heavy in the filtered air. The thought of losing so many brothers all at once…it was a difficult one to bare. But that was the reality of war.

Angel moved to sit down next to Baseline, slinging an arm over his shoulders. He pulled him into his side with a rough tug, smiling as the medic grumbled half-hearted protests, and looked up at his brothers.

“Habit’s right - hey, don’t give me that look, he _is_ -”

“Thanks, vod.”

“- and you’re all worrying for nothing. That weapon, whatever it was, has been all but smashed into the surface of some moon in the fourth sector. And hopefully the karking general along with it, if there’s any sense of justice in this damn galaxy.” He paused, pointedly looking into each of their eyes, identical faces all staring back. The corner of his lip quirked up.

“We got through training, and we’re gonna get through this war too. Our squad never fell easy.”

\---

The transport vessel left hyperspace with a lurch, the pilots announcing their arrival over the intercom. Troopers rushed to the small, narrow windows of the ship, shouldering each other to try and get a peek at where they had emerged. A looming, venator-class star destroyer came into view, backlit by a huge star that glowed molten orange. The hangar doors opened as they approached, welcoming the vessel on board. Squad leaders swiftly organised the troops into parade formation, all conversation falling to a hush moments before the landing ramp shuddered open. The troops marched down with a practised ease, a wave of white emerging out into the busy hangar bay, coming to stand at attention before the officers waiting to receive them. A Kel Dor stood amongst them - a tall humanoid with orange, leathery skin, and four long claws protruding from each hand. He wore simple, brown robes, and a rebreather mask that was secured around his tusks, with a deactivated lightsaber hanging from his belt. A Jedi. Their Jedi. A clone commander stood protectively to the Kel Dor’s side, his rank clearly denoted by the kama swinging from his hips. A wolf’s head was painted onto his right shoulder guard with the same grey paint that contoured the rest of his armour, and dual DC-17 blasters sat snugly in the holsters attached to his belt.

“Welcome, troops,” the Kel Dor spoke, his voice a deep, gravelly timbre, “to the 104th Battalion. I am Jedi Master Plo Koon, but most of your brothers call me General Plo. You may refer to me however you wish.” He tilted his head, features seeming to contort into…a smile? It was difficult to tell. “It is an honour to serve with you. I fear that I am running late for yet another council meeting, so I shall leave you in the ever-capable hands of Commander Wolffe. Should any of you need anything, please do not hesitate to seek me out. I have a plentiful supply of tea and biscuits in my office that all are welcome to at any time.” With a bow, the Jedi turned to leave, and the Commander stepped forwards. He levelled them with a scrutinising look. 

“Our next deployment orders are expected to come through within the next tenday. Until then, get comfortable with your new squads and listen to your sergeants.” His voice was gruff, with a slight drawl. Another officer approached and offered a datapad to the Commander.

“Alright. Troopers Hett, Mudhorn and Catch, you’ve been assigned to Arctic Company, Terran’s Squad…”

“…Socker, Two-Sixes, you’re with Grey…”

“…Mars, Tundra…”

“…Arctic as well. You’re the last ones for Arctic Company, so the Lieutenant can take you to the barracks…”

There was a pause.

“Troopers Angel, Habit, Baseline, Ticks and Steele?”

“Sir, yes Sir!”

The commander’s gaze lifted. It was barely more than a glance, lasting only a few seconds. But the weight of it felt heavy.

“Feral Company. Sinker’s Squad.”

Wolffe rattled off the last squad designations, before handing over the datapad and turning to leave. Tension seemed to collectively seep from the troops’ shoulders. Ticks turned to face Steele, smile hidden beneath his helmet, and bumped their shoulders together. Squads were usually kept together; unsurprisingly, they worked best alongside the brothers they’d trained with. But it wasn’t unheard of for batchmates to be separated.

A lieutenant took them and the other newest members of Feral Company down to the barracks, signposting training rooms and the mess hall, and explained the typical shift patterns as they went. The dull, grey durasteel hallways weren’t exactly pretty, but it was a change of scenery from the clinical white of Tipoca City. Angel did his best to try and memorise the layout, but he soon resigned himself to accepting that they were almost certainly going to get lost for the first few days. The whole place was a maze.

The barracks, at least, were easy to recognise. A series of identical doors stretched down a long corridor, with troops bustling about, yelling greetings and teasing each other as they made their way to morning shifts. The lieutenant knocked on one of the doors, muttered a quiet “Sinker’s” and left to show the others to their new bunks.

“Uhhhhhhhhh…”

“Do we just…go in? Or…?”

Rolling his eyes, Baseline shouldered past his brothers and opened the door. It was a fairly typical barracks room - two rows of bunks were lined up against each wall, with a personal chest for each occupant. At the end of the room was another door, which presumably led to a ‘fresher of some sort, with a ninth single bed wedged next to it. What was not typical was the three figures inside, clearly paused mid-conversation. Their armour, though decorated with a fresh layer of grey paint, was worn and scuffed. Whilst one of them had a similar regulation length haircut as they did, the other two sported incredibly different looks. One had bright silver hair, with eyebrows to match, and the other had two ridiculous burgundy strips (Mohawks? Were they supposed to be mohawks?) on top of his head. A pair of long scars ran parallel across the right side of his face, curving from the top of his cheek to his upper lip. These were not clones fresh off Kamino.

Caught off guard, the five stood at the door, slightly dumbfounded. Had they got the wrong room? Baseline cleared his throat and went to speak, but silver beat him to it.

“Hey guys. You our new members?”

“Uh, maybe, sir? We were assigned to Sergeant Sinker?”

Silver snorted, lips quirking into an amused smile, and nodded. “Yeah, that’s me. This,” he gestured to mohawks, “is Boost. And that’s Comet.” The clone with the reg cut offered them a wave. “Come inside, you’re standing in the way. And take your buckets off.”

The five of them shuffled in, the door sliding to a close behind them. They took their helmets off, and had to resist the urge to squirm under the gazes of the three older clones. After a couple beats, Boost snickered.

“They’re certainly shiny alright.”

“Be nice, Boost. We were all nervous on our first day.” Comet shot back, frowning at the trooper. He stood from his bunk, and his face relaxed into an easy smile. “Ignore him, he hasn’t had anyone to pick on since Sinker promoted me to corporal.”

Boost scoffed. “He only chose _you_ because he’s a slimy _di’kut_ who thinks he’s funny -”

“Okay, okay. Not in front of the kids.” Sinker cut Boost off with a wave, trying - and failing - to suppress a smile. “Choose your bunks, then we’ll take you to the mess hall. You’ve had a long trip.”

After snapping off a quick salute, Ticks, Habit and Steele rushed forwards to fight for the last two top bunks. Steele was pushed to the ground with a thump, an indignant yowl tearing from his throat. He squabbled with his brothers as he tried to yank Ticks off the bed, barely dodging a pillow that Habit swung at his head.

“Bet the trainers loved you.” Boost watched the fighting, thoroughly amused. Angel heaved an exasperated sigh and Baseline just looked mortified.

Moving to take his own bunk, Angel set down his helmet, running a hand through his hair. He looked to Sinker, and gave him a sheepish smile. 

“Sorry.”

Sinker waved him off, smiling wide enough to show teeth. “What’re your names?”

“I’m Angel, that’s Baseline.” Angel nodded to the other clone, and then pointed at each of the three bickering brothers, “Habit, Ticks and Steele.”

“And your squad name?” Comet asked. Angel and Baseline shared a hesitant look, before Baseline grimaced, breaking eye contact. He stared down at his hands, murmuring something too quietly for the others in the room to hear.

“You’re gonna need to speak up, kid. Didn’t quite catch that.”

“…Tooka Squad. We’re Tooka Squad, sir.”

A few silent seconds stretched out, broken when Boost burst into peals of laughter, falling back into his bunk. Comet whacked his leg, scowling at him.

“What,” Sinker raised an eyebrow, looking between Baseline and Angel, “like the creature? The fluffy little thing with the big ears?”

“Yeah. Our cadet trainer named us.”

“Well, I like it.” Comet assuaged, smiling sweetly, “Tooka’s are more dangerous than you’d think. Their teeth are pretty sharp, and their claws can do some real damage if you let them get too close.”

“Mostly just cute, though.” Boost snorted, letting out a surprised “oomph!” as Comet shoved him back down to the mattress.

“Sir,” Baseline cut in, desperately looking for a change in conversation, “are we missing someone?”

“Hm?”

“There’s only eight of us, sir.” 

Angel leaned back, casting a curious glance at Sinker. He had noticed it too - nine beds, for nine members of a squad. The three older clones shared a knowing look. Boost leaned forwards, smirking, voice hushed like he was sharing a secret.

“You see, kid, I’m just so good with a blaster that -”

“No, we’re not missing anyone.” Sinker interrupted, suspiciously nonchalant. “You don’t need to worry about that.”

Angel had a feeling that they should in fact be worried about it, but before he could probe further Sinker began to speak again. “Alright, tookas. Let’s go see what flavour slop they’re serving today.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This is my first fic, so feel free to leave advice or criticism in the comments if you wanna!! I'm having a lot of fun with it, and the next chapter should be out soon-ish. I came up with the company names before I started reading blackkat's RWLF, but, uh, accidental homage, I suppose?
> 
> Here are my links, if you're interested:
> 
> twitter.com/ashlawrites
> 
> ashlawrites.tumblr.com
> 
> Have a great day ❤️


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